Raised Hands Don’t Point Fingers

“The delay is intentional…”

Sarah, the mother of Isaac whispered in her thick accent as she rocked back and forth in her rocking chair.

“But it stings so bad.” I thought to myself wishing away the pain of the unfulfilled dream.

We gazed at the front yard covered in snow and she said “Do you think this grass blames the snow for its unmet expectations? Perhaps… or maybe it’s saying hello old friend, thank you for covering me while I rest and submit to this new season...”

I used to see waiting as a prison but I’m learning Jesus sees it as a place of liberation, freeing me of my striving and my death grip on what He can do rather than the richness of Him alone.

Sarah looked at me with her wrinkled brown eyes and said “Raised hands don’t point fingers, my love. He desires you to rest in Him more than He desires the rest of the story to look pretty.”

Would my abiding not be passive oh Lord.